Forty-two years ago (to me if to no one
The number is of some interest) it was a brilliant starry
And the westward train was empty and had no
So darting from side to side I could catch the unwonted
Of those almost intolerably
Holes, punched in the sky, which excited me partly
Of their Latin names and partly because I had read in the
How very far off they were, it seemed their
Had left them (some at least) long years before I was.
And this remembering now I mark that
Light was leaving some of them at least then,
Forty-two years ago, will never
In time for me to catch it, which light
It does get here may find that there is
Anyone left
To run from side to side in a late night
Admiring it and adding noughts in vain.
